


U(AQ)T

by 200percent_inlove



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff without Plot, Oh wait me LOL, Post-Canon, Romantic Comedy, Romantic Fluff, Who thought this was a good idea?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25167955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/200percent_inlove/pseuds/200percent_inlove
Summary: Theoretically speaking,hisclothes wereherclothes, too. And going by that technicality, it shouldn’t be considered thievery, anyway.Or, chaos ensues when Makoto discovers the versatility of her boyfriend's supposedly questionable clothing.Post-Persona.
Relationships: Amamiya Ren/Niijima Makoto, Kurusu Akira/Niijima Makoto, Niijima Makoto/Persona 5 Protagonist, shumako - Relationship
Comments: 12
Kudos: 77





	U(AQ)T

**Author's Note:**

> Distractions by stupid prompts often lead to nonsense, so, yeah. To summarize, I have no idea what I'm doing. I don't think the jokes are funny. But this has been sitting and left to rot in my OneDrive for SO LONG that when I opened it up recently, the words just came and - there you go. This trainwreck. LOL.
> 
> Just as a disclaimer, I absolutely don't think that any person in a relationship should be dictating their S.O.'s choice of dress - so hopefully, I didn't deliver that kind of message here. Rather, I just wanted to emphasize more on Makoto's curiosity that eventually lead to her doing the unthinkable - which, I won't spoil here. ;D 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! c:
> 
> I really like listening to cute K-pop, and this song helped drive my inspiration:
> 
> [Hoody ft. Crush - Sunshine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-NLqrBmox04)

As a boyfriend, Ren Amamiya has much to be praised for.

For starters, he’s a kind-hearted, sentimental soul, as evidenced by his uncanny ability to form unorthodox friendships ranging from talking alley cats to former members of the Diet and (even stranger), his ex-homeroom teacher who _somehow_ took on a dual identity as a private maid.

Second, he’s a fantastic chef – one who could give his spirited girlfriend a run for her money if he actually made the effort to put the final Ramsey™ touch to his plates (but he doesn’t, for a multitude of reasons that point to the final verdict that he’s absolutely lazy).

Third, he offers his shoulder in consolation when needed, brings pocket-sized bottles of sanitizer where required and maintains a monthly budget, because quote-unquote, _‘If we were to get married in the future, we can’t wing this like Ryuji, who naively believes that eating cold rice and beans would be enough to purchase a two-bedroom apartment in ten years.’_

There's nobody else that Makoto Niijima would award with an A+, truly. 

But as a fashionista, though, Ren Amamiya leaves _much_ to be desired, and frankly, she has the eye-sore that is called casual street fashion to blame.

* * *

Just for the record, Makoto isn’t pompous enough to declare herself as some exemplary model in the very topic that is known as ‘ _fashion_ ’, choosing to abide by the golden rule of ‘ _simple is best_ ’ and thereby, drowning herself in clean shades of whites, blacks, and grays in outfit combinations that she deems suitable for the university setting. She's not always assured that what she picks is best, but at the very least, she’s won the approval of Ann – the resident style guru – on _more_ than one occasion, so she has a good amount of confidence to proclaim that she has improved, slowly but surely with the occasional accessory and a trench coat to tie everything together, and isn’t doing as terribly in that department as she thought.

Ren, on the other hand –

To put it bluntly, his strange, colourful ensembles consisting of nothing but oversized hoodies and UNIQLO t-shirts that swarmed over his lanky frame have left both young women utterly confused as to how and (most importantly) _why_ the boy has regressed this awfully to the point where Ann had muttered haphazardly under her breath, “He dressed _so_ much better in high school.”

Her friends' concerning comments had also left Makoto pondering whether a quarter-life crisis had hit her boyfriend much earlier than the presumed age of twenty-five – and even worse, whether she had contributed to its rapid progression in some way.

(No, he clarified, completely bewildered. No, _of course not_.

That relieved her slightly, but not by much.)

And to be clear, on a regular day, the young woman could care less about someone’s choice in attire – with the exception of Ryuji, that is, because that bright-yellow tank top and cargo shorts mix _truly_ had to go. And this also isn’t a sarcastic jab at what the young, hip and trendy call ‘athleisure’ – she, too, dons it on during lazy morning errand runs and knows the occasional appeal of it.

Key-word being _'occasional_ '.

What Ren was doing was - not that.

Rather, it was two long, dulling months of endless shopping on clothing brand websites with the most obscure names that she's ever heard in her entire life (like, what exactly is Bathing Ape, and why is it so expensive for an ugly camo-patterned zip-up hoodie?), package deliveries, an overwhelming amount of cardboard that have done nothing but contributed to the Earth's exponentially-growing carbon footprint, and carefree Joker-esque waltzes into his morning lectures and seminar presentations that requested business casual, only to have him deliver the complete opposite. A big red flag came when someone as well-dressed as _Sojiro_ had something disapproving to comment on the matter ("Kid, why aren't you wearing your damn jeans? And that blazer that you normally wear?! You're on a _date_!" "Uh, somewhere in my closet? I don't know, I can't find it."). 

But an even more concerning red flag was when Makoto couldn't understand where the sudden transition from well-kept, tidy and casually formal to - what's that word again? _right_ \- 'Hypebeast wannabe' came from. She tried to understand - oh, she tried, reading through the website that attempted to 'drive culture forward' for anything and everything imaginable. Was it in the fabric of the clothing they reported on? No, it couldn't be. It's all polyester and cotton (two of the most common materials when producing clothes); was it the _style_? As if there was much of it at all, especially when Ren insists on getting whatever looked good. Granted, it fit his physique well - no doubt about it - it's just - 

_Unseemly_.

(Or, this was a bit of a stretch, but Makoto briefly humoured the idea that he's grown a liking towards clothes that served a secondary function as an oversized blanket.) 

So here she is, on a somewhat dreary Saturday morning with her laptop propped up on her legs and a search tab open on her monitor with the words ' _why do young men like streetwear_ ' typed across, where she decided that subtlety wasn't an appropriate approach, and instead, that honesty is the best policy.

Clearing her throat as casually as she could, she questions, "Ren. Tell me. Why do you dress the way you do nowadays?"

To which, his reply - spoken in a matter-of-fact, almost orderly manner as if he were reliving his days as the mysterious heart-thieving assailant - consisted of way too many excuses and not enough valid reasons.

"A) Comfort over style. Morning classes demand an easy, stretchy waistband and soft, cottony shirts that I can doze off in, despite the uncomfortable plastic that makes up our lecture hall seats."

"Arguable." And then, once the hidden message concealed within his words finally wrapped itself around her mind, she adds, highly affronted, "Wait one moment, you're taking naps. In _cla_ \- ?!"

"B) It fits me like a glove." To emphasize his point, he lifts one lean leg into the air, jabbing a finger at how the elastic pant leg wrapped around his ankle oh-so-perfectly. "Have you even seen me in my other clothes? I've outgrown them." A true understatement, considering the fact that Ren now towered over her at six feet, most clothing stores failed to cater to that height, and Makoto was (sadly) left unblessed in the height department after she turned eighteen. On the plus side, it makes her perfectly suited for forehead kisses, so that helps some. "And trust me, Makoto, I am not stepping out into _Ginza_ looking like I had just spent a day in the field, working in a rice patty."

How Ren manages to pull these unorthodox metaphors out of his brain, she'll never understand. "Ren, I believe there is an option called - " Her fingers make light work on the keyboard, and she turns it towards him, deadpanning, "Capris."

He simply shakes his head, and after some thought, Makoto has to agree. Capris have a terribly notorious reputation in screwing with one's proportions. And my God, that was the last thing she needed to think about before drifting off to sleep: Ren, wearing a fitted tuxedo on top, paired with a pair of short cargo pants on the bottom. Oh, the absolute horror of it all.

"And lastly," he finishes. "C) If I end up dropping out of law school, I actually have a foreseeable and very reliable back-up plan in mind."

 _Do I even **want** to know what it is? _“And what is that?" 

“Full-time Hypebeast model." And he pauses, sending her a haughty look that screamed ' _and I thought you were supposed to be the smart one in the relationship_ '. 

The faux-neutrality she had masterfully maintained cracks like porcelain, giving way to deep, deep disapproval: frowns and wrinkles galore. “You’re _kidding_ me.”

His returning silence - alongside that stupidly confident glint swimming around in his eyes - could not be more irritating. 

Well, Makoto adds as an afterthought, considering the fact that he has been giving all of these brands free promotion non-stop for the past half-year, it's not that farfetched of an idea. And if he's persistent - which, undoubtedly, he certainly is with how much his clothes are now being reported on his monthly credit card bill - he'll get there - 

_Wait. What am I **saying**?!_ _Or, more precisely, what am I **thinking**?!_

"Look, Ren." She closes her laptop shut with a loud thud - a tad bit too forceful on her four-thousand dollar new purchase - and sighs. "All I'm saying is, while I absolutely think it looks great on you, perhaps it's not the wisest decision to wear Super Mario Brothers or Nike trainers when you need to give a poster presentation. The scruffy appearance - "

"Oh?" Eyes narrowing sharply, he clears his throat and ends up squelching out a shrill, Banshee-like squeal. "Why, hello there, Eiko. _So_ thoroughly overjoyed to see you take over my girlfriend - " 

"Doesn't suit that type of event," Makoto interrupts hotly, fanning her reddening face. Two years since that fake-dating fiasco, and he showed no signs of ever letting her live it down. Maybe she should've just told him to comb out his hair thoroughly instead of dropping that dreaded ' _s_ ' word and called it a day. Oh, well. At least she came out with a steady relationship, so there's that. "Is what I meant to say!"

"Ah, but this type of get-up is also very well-suited for so _many_ other things." 

And indeed, one of those many things, of course, was changing the subject without much effort needed: him, taking the brief window of opportunity to lunge towards her - an action that, had he been wearing stuffy, fitted trousers, would not have been possible - trapping her in his hold while letting his lips graze over hers; her, incredibly flustered and unconsciously arching into him, urging him closer as all thoughts of telling him off had nearly dissipated completely -

That is, until he whispered with a mischievous gleam glinting within his eyes, "Oh, but I'm sure you'll figure out. You're smart, aren't you?" 

* * *

_1\. Perpetual Aromatics_

Smart? She _used_ to think that she was, but two years of life experience - encompassing many lessons in public and within private quarters that she'll never disclose to anybody but her personal journal - had broadened her horizons greatly, making her come to the realization that there's still _so_ much to the world that she doesn't know. And even then, she would only consider herself book-smart. She's still not quite as adept with her street smarts.

Still, this is _Makoto Niijima_ that we're talking about. Niijimas are persistent. They are daring. Bold. Willing to take risks. And in the face of a puzzling inquiry - or, in Ren's case, an actual challenge - that she can gain some new knowledge in, she's definitely not going to say no to it. No questions asked.

(Damn Ren for knowing her so well.) 

The problem now?

Where to proceed, of course.

Having read everything that she could on the subject, contemplating asking Ryuji (and then subsequently changing her mind after noticing the appalling 'No Mo Rules' t-shirt that he had crudely snipped off the sleeves into a ragged, makeshift tank top), thoroughly examined the tags on Ren's newly-purchased clothes while taking notes (again, the pattern of cotton, linen, rayon continues) and personally visited one of Ren's favourite clothing stores in all of _Shinjuku_ during one of her lunch breaks - and feeling awkwardly out of place in there too, mind you, because the tattooed salesperson approached her apprehensively with a facial expression reading, ' _what in the world are you even doing here?_ ' - it's official: she's stuck in a rut.

And Ren Amamiya - handsome as he is, wonderful as his hugs are - is doing absolutely nothing to help her in her quest. 

"Any luck, sweetheart?"

Makoto nearly wants to throw a pillow at her smug partner's face in response, but the amount of frustration so painstakingly evident on her face is enough to scare Ren away into doing something much more productive: laundry with their new appliance - gifted from the ever-so-gracious Sae Niijima - but not without shouting from a very safe distance that wouldn't result in unwanted fluffy assaults from cushions: 

"I believe in you, Makoto!" 

_Great_.

Unfortunately, Makoto doesn't hold that same amount of confidence in herself. And as she sits, wondering what to type next into her search engine with the damn cursor blinking at her like some malfunctioning stoplight, she whispers a quick prayer to whichever deity exists that was responsible for overlooking and curating the next global fashion trends that a sign - a clue, a hint - would be more than appreciated right now -

And a sign, she gets, in the form of a loud, crass " _What in the fucking hell?!_ ", soapy bubbles, the heavily-scented and pungent smell of cherry blossom wafting throughout the apartment and - even more alarmingly -

Water, reflecting back at her and spreading at an incredible speed...?

Her crimson-tinted eyes widen.

_Water. Seeping onto our nice rug. And onto Sis' welcome mat._

And without another second thought, she tosses her computer aggressively to the side, slipping and sliding across the floorboards all the while like a completely inept figure skater. 

* * *

When she asked for a sign, she wasn't asking for a flood.

And nor did she ask for extra cleaning duties, a very apologetic, guilt-ridden boyfriend, or a ruined blouse that she had initially planned to wear for an upcoming casual date with Ann. 

But she has all of that. Yet surprisingly, Makoto's not as upset as she thought she would be, even though _technically_ , she has all right in the world to lash out ~~(because that blouse; oh, that expensive, pricy blouse that she wears only for special occasions).~~ Rather, she's puzzled. Confused. Con- _fucking_ -fused. And last but definitely not least, mind-boggled.

It's absolutely mind-boggling, because Ren - the Trickster, the overthrower of a malevolent god, the saviour of ~~her~~ the world that was on the verge of getting destroyed - should have no problem with handling something as simple as loading laundry into a high-tech washing machine. He's the master of many, especially when it came to household chores thanks to the extra practice he gained during his year on probation: vacuuming; preparing meals; washing dishes; caring for his _futon_ ; wiping down dusty countertops - 

Surely, reading the instruction booklet and locating the start button on a new appliance shouldn't be that big of a problem. 

She sighs, squeezing excess water from the mop and into a nearby bucket.

(But apparently, it is.) 

"Ren," she starts tiredly. "Tell me: what on Earth did you do?"

His explanation seems to travel all over the place, ranging from how that four-litre jug of Downy fabric softener sucks, to how he wasn't sure whether he still had to separate the darks from the lights (FYI: yes, even with technological advancements in this day and age, he _still_ does), to how ' _no matter how many times I read the label with my less than twenty-twenty vision, I am never going to get this right because this machine Sae-san gave us is horrendous_ ' and finally, ' _I would've assumed that the installation technicians would've made sure everything was in working order before signing off, but lesson learned_ '. 

Or, to put it bluntly: too many excuses, and not enough action. 

Still, Makoto is thankful that it was only inanimate objects that were damaged in the process. Exasperated as she is, she would much rather have to pay for potential damages and apologize to their downstairs neighbours for a potential leak than have to see Ren hurt - or worse, electrocuted. Look, even if the possibility of that is damn minimal, the fear is very much there, okay?

( ~~She lost him once - she doesn't need to experience that heartache again.~~ )

"I'm just glad that you didn't get hurt," she says tersely. Her eyes fall upon the ruined garment, still clutched in his hands, completely damaged and beyond repair. 

"I know," Ren says, noting her crestfallen gaze. "I owe you a new shirt. But hey, in the meantime, I have the perfect solution." Yanking the mop away from her hands with a light tug, he lets it topple over onto the floor with a light clatter and expertly sidesteps the puddle, dragging her hesitant self behind him like an overpowered speedboat tugging onto a waterskier from behind. 

Whatever his solution is, he certainly seemed - excitable. Almost ecstatic.

* * *

Makoto soon figures out why.

And she's not exactly the happiest camper.

(At least, initially. Can you blame her, though?)

"You look great," Ren compliments, beaming as he slaps two hands onto her shoulders encouragingly. 

Makoto scowls, pursing her lips together as she runs her hand self-consciously across the fabric of the large t-shirt that she had tucked into her knee-length navy skirt. Never has she ever paired a casual tee with something that she's worn for internship interviews. It doesn't look half as bad as she thought. 

But still.

"Flattery will get you nowhere." And with her commissioner-in-training mind at work, she quickly adds, "Are you _sure_ this isn't a total set-up to get me into wearing Mickey Mouse!?" 

"There are plenty of other tactics to employ," Ren counters swiftly, and he taps his nimble finger against the waistline of her skirt. "Flooding the apartment is not one of them."

Well. That's definitely fair. She has nothing to retaliate with. 

"And besides - " The young man daringly reaches forward, pulling her reluctant form into his arms for a back hug. While logic warns Makoto to not give in so easily (especially after such a catastrophe that has yet to be cleaned), it's literally impossible to resist the moment she sinks into his chest and he starts using that drawl: playful, slightly arrogant, like he knows that she would relent into him like putty.

Linking his pinky around hers, he whispers quietly, "You can't stay angry with me for too long. You look fantastic, and I know for a fact that Ann will appreciate this look." 

“Regardless of whatever compliments you're giving me,” she mumbles stiffly, tightening her finger around his. And his lopsided smile widens across his face as she grumpily chides, “You _still_ owe me a new shirt.”

He ends up walking her to the nearest train station, promising that he'll have everything taken care of (whatever that meant) and he kisses her good-bye on the forehead, wishing her a wonderful time. Let it be known: Makoto is still slightly miffed when he gives her a hearty, nonchalant wave and she has half the mind to remind him once more that yes, a new blouse is in order. But she returns it with a pouty glare that didn't match the softened warmth swirling around in her eyes.

(He's completely right, though: how could she ever find it within herself to hold a grudge against someone like _him_?)

Once she completely descends and he disappears from view, however, the teasing grimace fades away into a contemplative firm line. And as she stands at the platform, her eyes dart this way and that - and casually (in a way to not arouse attention), she lightly pulls at the collar: just high enough to reach her nose, but not enough to deem her a weirdo for taking deep breaths of her clothing.

The shirt smells - good. Warm. Inviting. Comforting, to a degree. Pleasant, even.

...No.

...Wait.

A correction is in order. It's not the shirt. Rather, it's him. _He_ smells good, because this scent that's wafting dreamily underneath her nose isn't their regular detergent. She'd recognize that one any day. Instead, it's hinted with a subtle muskiness - kind of like a crisp, refreshing apple tossed in with the lingering aroma of rain-soaked cement after a sudden rainstorm in the Summer - that she's smelt before on his pillows; on his side of the bed. Pretty much everywhere that he's been imaginable.

And quite honestly? She's not complaining. 

It does, however, prompt the curious, curious question of whether _all_ of Ren’s clothing actually smelled this pleasing.

And so, for the sake of science and solving this mystery, she's decided to examine this situation further.

* * *

And in true Makoto fashion, she ends up doing some late-night reading in the living room while Ren's asleep in the main bedroom to do some personal investigations (because no, there's absolutely no way that she'll let him witness her doing this.)

While initially skeptically, she's utterly surprised to find a promising finding off of PubMed. One study proclaims that the benefits of wearing a significant other's clothing are plentiful, including (but not limited to), stress relief, and relaxation.

A skeptical eyebrow raises high in the air. Fascinating results.

Admittedly, Makoto's not _that_ much of a psychology bookworm herself, but even she has to commend that it's truly a remarkable field. And who knows? Maybe she ought to give this a try the next time she's experiencing distress.

(Just - you know, for science.

And - research purposes.)

* * *

_2\. Stress relief and comfort, like a hug - without the hugger_

Many great scientists in the world share the same humbling qualities. Things like curiosity, patience, persistence, determination are among some of the many traits in the journey towards greatness and successful discoveries. 

Curiosity, she's definitely full of - because hey, isn't that what landed her in hot waters back in her Shujin days when attempting to track down Kaneshiro? Never again. Never again.

Persistent and determined: oh yes, she also is, especially in matters that concern their well-being and (in the case of Ryuji and Ann) education - it's just in her blood to ensure that they succeed.

 _Unfortunately_ , Makoto lacks the rest, especially in the department of patience. And it's precisely what happens halfway throughout the semester, where tempers are running high as midterm examinations, group presentations with classmates who (as Ryuji often likes to complain loudly) ' _are giving less than two shits_ ' and student society meetings to loom upon them like a perpetual, never-ending storm. Patience - a quality that Makoto desperately wished she honed more of - is running as thin as the single piece of worn thread that's holding her duffel bag together. 

And to top it all off on an excruciatingly painful start to her Friday morning, Ren was gone.

...Okay, well, it's not as depressingly dramatic as she's making it sound - but look: it's been rough, waking up to a late alarm that she has no recollection of setting for that late of a time, thereby leading her to stuff burnt toast into her mouth while dangerously balancing seven notebooks in one arm, and soon after, coming to the realization that she's _actually_ running late and would never make it to her midterm exam on time unless she called for a taxi. Essentially, it was Makoto's nightmare come true, because she had initially believed that the potential that things going wrong was quite minimal.

As it turns out, everything is actually going wrong. And this reaction is rightfully warranted.

On the plus side, he's not ' _gone_ -gone', per se. Just ' _field trip_ -gone' to listen to a three-day conference for budding lawyers (oh, _please_ Lord, did Ren bring a proper suit for the occasion?) in _Osaka_ , which had begged the initial questions of, "University students still go on field trips like this?" and "For how long?" 

(Friday, Saturday and Sunday, he had explained, and to soothe her concerns regarding his departure, he reassured her that he'll be back before she even knew it.)

Now, Makoto's not the type of girl to simply mope about, missing her significant other. She and Ren had both agreed that alone time is beneficial for all parties to recuperate. And even though Ryuji and Ann still don't quite understand _why_ they never eat lunch together when they practically share the same schedule, she simply explains that they'll have plenty of time for a two-person honeymoon when they officially get married in the future.

("Miss Prez, didja - really just say what I **_think_** ya said?

"Ryuji, keep this quiet, and I'll buy you _omakase_ sushi for two weeks!"

"A- ** _hem_**!"

"And y-you, too, Ann," she adds hastily after sensing the leggy model piercing daggers in turn. "O-of course!")

Today, though?

She could really make do with his actual presence and his voice of reason, wishing her a good day with a warm hug, but all she has to compensate for that is a single sticky note, taped to the bathroom in a neat, typewriter-like font wishing her good luck.

Thoughtful? Definitely.

Enough? Not. Even. _Close_.

Sighing, Makoto squeezes her worn stuffed panda close to her chest, but even after tightly squeezing the last bits of life out of it, she doesn't feel that much better. Great, so Buchimaru-kun isn't enough to keep her motivated at this rate. Then again, she shouldn't even be dawdling around with her childhood cuddle buddy in the first place when she needs to book it out of the apartment like right now.

 _While looking like a total hot mess_ , she thinks, groaning as she slaps her hand against her forehead. Why, oh, _why_ did she forget to set her clothes out the previous evening as she always did? 

She takes one glance at her messy closet - and literally feels her knees buckling in weakness. In such a frazzled state, all of her previous surefire clothing ensembles seem to have been obliterated from her brain completely. And here she is now, questioning whether she had paired that white cardigan with the purple top before? Not that she would wear such a monstrosity in the first place; that blouse has a gigantic _ramen_ stain, screaming for attention at the collar. And did she wear this mahogany skirt in the past? She yanks it out of her dresser, eyebrows furrowing deeper than the deepest point to Mariana's Trench when she notices the tags hanging on the side. 

Seriously, this _has_ to be a joke. She's prancing around in a state of hysteria over her clothes, and this could've been a totally avoidable issue had she been more careful. 

Stomping around the room with only two more minutes to spare, she's near-ready to throw that atrocious purple thing on (and hopefully, if this day could not get any worse than now, not draw any attention onto that dried _shoyu_ broth) when she sees it. 

Ren's hoodie, folded into an immaculate, perfect square, resting on their shared mattress, beckoning towards her like a lighthouse akin to a lost ship at sea (namely, her). She runs her hand across the fabric. Oh, this one - she knows this one well: Ren had to meet up with somebody online to exchange one of his old pieces for it. A rarity from Off-White that all of the stores in Japan had sold out of, he exclaimed once he returned. Designwise, it's definitely right up Ren's alley with the minimalistic appearance: black, with splashes of white running down the sleeves in striped blocks. If Makoto's being honest with herself, it doesn't look half bad (despite the agonizing price tag) and she could imagine herself wearing it if she had the proper accessories - 

_Wait._

Suddenly, Makoto's hit with an idea. A very good one, too. 

She unfolds the hoodie, staring at it intensely for a good five seconds: so intense, it would've been capable of burning holes through it had she wielded lasers for eyes. 

And within those five seconds, she was able to deduce the following:

A) It's not flashy, and wasn't something that would grab any unwanted looks -

B) It's one-hundred percent clean - 

C) It probably _will_ smell like Ren, which is an added bonus because Ren's scent seems rather pungent (in the nicest way possible), and it appears to be doing some magical things in terms of stress reduction (case in point: the nightmarish ordeal with their laundry machine from three weeks ago) - 

And ultimately, for a stress-filled young woman who so desperately wants her boyfriend but _can't_ have him (for obvious reasons), this was probably the next best thing that she could get. Her eyes shift guiltily, this way and that as if she were being monitored from afar, and it takes her another good ten seconds before she could finally bring the garment close. Oh, God. It's very unlike her to be dressing so casually for class (and to add, it is extremely, _extremely_ out of character for her to be giving Ren's clothes a good sniff) but - 

(Well, desperate times call for desperate measures.) 

She inhales, letting subtle hints of citrus and tiny tones of blackberry (his favourite deodorant) flood her nose. 

(This is _exactly_ one of those times.) 

And exhales, near sighing in relief. Her body seems to be responding subconsciously, relaxing into a jelly-like slump as whatever tension she had been experiencing just now evaporates like thin mist. If only she wasn't an adult and didn't have responsibilities, slipping into Ren's clothes and enjoying a nice, warm beverage with a nice book didn't sound that terrible of an idea; police commissioner-to-bes' also need some Zen and relaxation to themselves - 

_...Oh, God._

_Oh, my God._

What in the world is she even doing? She's a twenty-one-year-old young woman who should be doing everything, but sinking weak-kneed onto her bed with unrealistic fantasies running through her mind while clutching her boyfriend's hoodie as her life depended on it - 

But hey, there's a first for everything. And this is an absolute first.

(And unashamedly, she doesn't mind it at all.)

So, without giving it another thought (not that she has a moment to spare, really) Makoto pulls it on, preening at herself for the final time in the wall mirror to make sure that ~~Rens'~~ her top matched her plain bottoms before sprinting for her life and climbing aboard the waiting convertible.

(But of course, just to be on the safe side:

_To: Ren Amamiya  
Sent At: 8:49 A.M._

_I'm borrowing your hoodie today. I hope you don't mind._

The reply is almost instantaneous.

_To: Makoto Niijima  
Sent At: 8:52 A.M._

_By all means._

_To: Ren Amamiya  
Sent At: 8:53 A.M._

_Are you even **paying attention!**? _)

* * *

Surprisingly enough, not _that_ many people took notice of her sudden change in style. She wasn't sure why she was so on guard (it's just clothing, after all), but suffice to say, she was more than relieved when her classmates had approached her, not to question why she was wearing a hoodie of all things, but to review a few more of the difficult concepts before the start of the midterm. 

Even more surprising, however, was the fact that her mood had done a complete one-eighty within the hour - and she only has Ren's hoodie to hold responsibility for. It's funny because when she had walked into that lecture hall to face the demon that had plagued her nightmares for the past few nights, she was initially filled with dread and trepidation. The fear that she wouldn't excel on a multiple-choice exam had intensified by ten-fold.

And yet -

 ** _And yet_** -

Such a simple act, like pulling the collar of his hoodie snug around her neck, had done wonders to ease her worries. Things didn't seem quite as - awful, now that she was actually ruminating about the morning hours where she had spent way too many freaking out over her attire. Perhaps a tad weird thinking this way, but Makoto could literally feel his presence emanating through her being as she filled in her scantron, keeping her much calmer and more at peace than any of her meditative breathing exercises could.

It's almost as if, Ren's hoodie had a secondary function, which was to act as her personal vacuum, sucking away her bouts of stress. 

(Strange metaphor, she knows, but she digresses.

Maybe describing it as a hug without the hugger was a better descriptor.)

She ended up walking out forty minutes later, confident and relaxed that she had passed that particular exam with flying colours and was just about to contemplate whether she wanted to catch up with Haru or Yusuke when - 

"Oh. Niijima- _senpai!_ "

She spins around on her heel, only to see one of her underclassmen sprinting towards her. She steps to the side of the hallway, straightening out the hem with a smooth swish (an unconscious action? or perhaps, a conscious one?) and she greets, "Oh, why, hello there! How are you doing?" 

It's just small talk here and there - a question about an upcoming fundraiser, law school applications, and what not - when the young woman clears her throat and gestures to Makoto's top with a wave of her hand. Almost immediately, the short-haired brunette freezes, rapidly brainstorming a (hopefully) coherent list of excuses as to why she had worn something so out there. She braces herself with a gritted, painful smile, panicking, _here it comes, here it comes. I'm not Futaba - I can't pull off these kinds of clothes -_

What she hears, though, catches her completely off guard. 

"Niijima- _senpai_ , you should wear oversized hoodies more often. I think they suit you so well!"

And Makoto finds herself equal parts surprised - and elated. 

(More so the latter, too.) 

"So! Where did you get it?"

And very proudly whilst smiling, Makoto says confidently, "Actually, it's my boyfriend's." 

* * *

Ren ends up returning from his field trip a day earlier than anticipated - 

"The whole panel that was supposed to do a Q&A came down with a bout of food poisoning. Coincidental, right?" 

"Oh, absolutely."

And he is absolutely astounded - shell-shocked, even - to see Makoto greeting him in his prized Off-White. Not that he has any qualms about her treating his garments properly (she could probably handle Downy and fabric softener better than _he_ ever could), but this was a rather welcome change.

He hauls his hand-carry onto the mattress, preparing to unpack, and says, "Still wearing it, hmm?" 

"Admittedly, it's not a fashion staple in my closet, per se, but even I have to confess - " She hesitates briefly, musing for the proper word before settling on a neutral, "It's a very comfortable garment."

He makes a noncommittal noise - "Hmm" - and continues his ministrations with his back turned towards her.

And Makoto, completely preoccupied with the wrinkled state of his suit that he had worn, totally misses the secretive smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he replies with a nonchalant guise to his voice, "I see." 

* * *

_3\. Practicality_

A great scientist also knows when to ask appropriate questions, and one of Makoto's many questions - more often than not - include these: why is Ren's hair so still untameable, despite the monthly trims? Why does Sis, having left a much more stress-inducing occupation several years ago - still never take a break? Why does Sis insist on taking her dates to conveyor belt sushi bars? How is Ann still so damningly voluptuous, even after inhaling three crepes in a single sitting? 

And the primary question that has left her mind boggled: why in this world do women's trousers lack an accessible space for keys and other small items? 

She admits, it's a first-world problem. However, it's a very literal, and very valid one to be complaining about a lack of pocket. It just makes absolutely no _sense_ that a woman couldn't simply walk around Tokyo without lugging around a bag. On regular days where she may be making more than just a single stop, that's acceptable. But on days like this, it's just completely unpractical to have to bring three pounds of useless items with her when all she's doing is making a quick run to the grocery store. A wallet and maybe some cash would do - _not_ a hand mirror; _not_ a hairbrush and most definitely, _not_ a make-up pouch when she isn't even out to impress anyone.

(Definitely not that lazy store clerk from the grocery store down the street who never bothers to ask her about her points card.)

And that's why she's here: on a Saturday morning with heavy rain pelting over their roofs thunderously, and she's pulling out things that are much too extravagant for a measly trip to the supermarket for bok choy, eggs and pre-packaged _ramen_ noodles. 

"Makoto, you're not going to an interview," Ren chided lightly from the living room, all prepared and ready-to-go in his go-to weekend outfit: a UNIQLO t-shirt with Naruto plastered all over the torso, and Sasuke on the back with a simple gray jacket to pull it together. Leave it to him to proclaim (stylishly, of course) that he was an avid follower of the famed _manga_. "You don't need to think that much about it." 

But oh, she is - because she's Makoto Niijima, and Niijimas have a tendency to overthink even the smallest issues. Blowing things out of proportion, one would say. She argues otherwise, calling it being thoughtful. 

It's just that, he didn't expect her to be _this_ thoughtful. And to think - how would she behave during their wedding preparations? She'd have to do all-nighters for a full year straight if she kept behaving this way.

Still, it's not in Ren's nature to criticize his girlfriend's Type-A behaviour. It's what helped him get those ninety-plus percentages on his papers, anyhow. So, he says with a smile, "Well, I can keep waiting all day," and ruffles her hair into a tousled mess, taking a seat on the couch to read through the paper. "So, take your time."

Take her time? She hasn't heard that quote since forever, but she can't - not unless she wants to get first dibs (she's picking up on Ryuji's daily speech - oh, boy) on the best eggs in the market that have a tendency to go quickly. Pressing a clenched fist against her forehead, Makoto is near-ready to just throw herself onto the mattress and scream into oblivion when her hip suddenly collides clumsily into Ren's closet door, left slightly ajar. And that, honestly, just aggravates her even more, because my goodness, how many reminders does he need to ensure that it closed properly?

("I did!" He shouts back, his eyes never leaving the article that boasted of a giant squid caught in Toyama Bay just a few days ago. "That door just - never closes shut!") 

She doesn't hear it, though. Instead, all her attention is drawn towards the one article of clothing that had just so happened to fall out of the closet upon impact, drifting over her outstretched arms daintily. 

Heavy footsteps patter throughout the apartment as he calls out, worried, "Makoto, did you hear me?"

 **YES** is what she would reply with.

But instead, she whirls around and - with a determined, near-ferocious glint in her eyes - holds up a recognizable sweater. Brand? North Face. Colour? All-black. Suitable for rainy weather? Obviously, with its unique rainproof fabric. Special features? Pockets galore, including a giant compartment in the very front that was capable of hiding a _bento_ box if one tried - and then some (Ren uses this primarily for his phone and a water bottle whenever he's out on his runs, though).

He, however, knows that she's _not_ thinking of using this for exercise. 

"I'm going to wear - " She inhales, unfurling it. " ** _This_**."

"And you won't even ask me for permission as to whether you can borrow this?" Ren asks, feigning outrage in a very unnecessary manner - and what Makoto means by this is, jabbing his index finger against her forehead patronizingly. "These are my clothes, after all. Clothes that you have reprimanded me for purchasing because - "

"Well," Makoto interrupts with a faint blush dusting her cheeks, swatting his hand away. Hastily, she pulls it over top of her thin shirt, mumbling in a muffled voice, "I - I _need_ it!"

He won't lie: she sounds damningly cute when she gets demanding and possessive.

She should get arrested just for that sentence alone.

* * *

Fortunately, the rain had subsided into nothing but a few puffy clouds alongside some much-needed sunshine just as they leave. 

"You _could_ still change, you know." 

And yet, Makoto chooses to wear the hoodie. It fits her nicely. A bit oversized, perhaps, and she has to roll up the sleeves so her hands don't become sweater paws, but hey, you can't exactly have an L fit an XS perfectly. Then again, it's Makoto - and if Makoto could make shoulder-padded armour (with spikes, by the way) look good, then something as casual as this should be fine.

As they make their way to the supermarket, hand-in-hand, she points out the very reasons why she's wearing it.

(Because - well, of _course_ , she does.) 

"In the case that it starts pouring when we leave the store, I'll have a means of protection."

"I mean, my arm could shield you, too," Ren says with a shrug, navigating the tiny cart through the narrow aisles. "But okay."

"And there are just some days where I absolutely refuse to bring a bag, and I wouldn't wish to depend on your pockets to keep my belongings safe. This - " She pats the front compartment softly, and Ren hears the jangling of her coin pouch echoing from within. "Is suitable." 

"So, just to be clear though - " They're halfway through their shopping list, with Ren watching her search for apples as he states, "This hoodie is still mine." 

"Yours. Yes. But maybe - " She pauses. "Ours." And as she whirls around to plop the plastic bag full of produce in, she says with a shy, bashful smile, "Ours sounds - somewhat nice, too."

In turn, Ren gives her a soft, gentle grin, belying his triumphant thoughts of, ' _hook, line, and sinker_ '.

* * *

_4\. 'The Boyfriend Look'_

By this point in time, it should be quite obvious how things happen. It's a very recognizable two-step approach that goes a bit like this:

Step 1: Makoto doesn't quite know what to wear for whatever she has planned for the day. 

And soon comes Step 2: Makoto 'unknowingly' (yes, that is in quotations for a very specific reason) discovers a hidden gem in his walk-in closet somewhere - perhaps an oversized t-shirt, a comfortable hoodie, and the like.

But sometimes, it's not about the science - not that Makoto has any right to claim any credibility to her quote-unquote pseudo-research in the first place; she's working towards _law school_ , after all.

Sometimes, it's not always about Makoto trying to prove a point to others - even though in retrospect, it is, because she's always learning when it comes to understanding what it actually means to be somebody's significant other (and oftentimes, the utilized teaching methods are very enjoyable - even if it may be somewhat unorthodox).

And sometimes, all it takes is a much-needed outing with her tight-knit group of friends for desserts in the form of three-tiered finger food, shopping, a sprinkle of some gossip about boyfriends ("Yusuke has discovered the allure of Overwatch"; "Ryuji likes D.Va way too much to be healthy"), just the tiniest bit of vanity, and a single compliment that came in the form of a text message to make Makoto truly succumb to the idea that stealing her boyfriend's clothing is an excellent idea.

* * *

It starts, because as much as Makoto claims to not care too much about her style, she's still very much a young woman who thrives off genuine compliments from her fellow companions. 

_From: Ann Takamaki_   
_Sent At: 10:46 A.M._   
  
_Wear that t-shirt from last time! It looked SO CUTE on you!_

Under normal circumstances, Makoto would've sent Ren (who had disappeared for the morning to complete his own errands) a quick message just to let him know that she would be borrowing the shirt for the day just as a form of courtesy. But then, just as her fingers are set on the screen ready to type, there's a mysterious part of her that, shockingly enough, _yearns_ to be rebellious and essentially, not give a flying damn that she would be committing thievery.

(It's Johanna. It _has_ to be. Who else would be able to convince her with, "This memorable day officially marks your graduation from boring, monotonous and drab to the vibrant world of colour, patterns - and video game characters.")

As much as Makoto dislikes the casual get-up that UNIQLO often sells, there is (undeniably) a certain charm to the UT shirts that she only recognizes now. Easy wear, easy wash, easy pair. Rather than wearing Disney today, though, she chooses for a simpler design with the easily identifiable LINE mascot etched onto the right side of the chest.

And Futaba and Haru, needless to say, are completely stunned at the shocking one-eighty that the esteemed student council president has done in terms of her choice of fashion. The ever-so-kind Haru doesn't question much more about it, however, since seeing Makoto happy was of higher importance than wondering what ~~traumatic experience~~ had instigated such a change. 

Futaba, though, is notoriously known to be honest. Not to mention observant. And that's why, when Makoto seats herself opposite of the redhead (blushing to the roots of her brown hair over the shower of compliments that Ann was raining on her), the youngest of the bunch takes in the way that the shirt sits on the petite woman's small frame. The sleeves sit a bit farther below her upper arm, and the shirt puffs out in a way that clearly screams oversized. There's no way that Makoto would buy such ill-fitting clothes herself. Not unless - 

_Oh._

And then, more clearly:

_Oh, daaaaaaaaaaaamn, he **did** it!_

* * *

Subsequently, it ends a little bit like this:

Futaba, watching Makoto pour hot, steaming tea into her teacup, chooses this particular moment to say - with an impish, lopsided smirk gracing her cute face: "So, Ren's convinced you into trying the boyfriend look, hmm?"

Makoto, squirming under the trio's scrutinizing gaze, with her hand tightening around the handle of the porcelain tightly and her face turning as pink as Haru's sweater, squealing: "Ah, w-well - !" 

Ann, finally realizing that there's no way that Makoto would've chosen something like this on her own, screaming with all dignity lost and forgotten: "D-DID YOU WEAR REN'S T-SHIRT LAST TIME, TOO?!"

And Haru, despite living the single bachelorette life and enjoying every glorious moment of it, crooning at how bold and comfortable Makoto has grown to be in both experimenting with different fashion trends and testing out new boundaries in her budding relationship, "We can confirm! The boyfriend look is absolutely adorable on you, Mako- _chan_!"

And at the end of it all, the overly supportive words and their unperturbed encouragement for Makoto causes her to turn into a tomato-red, blushing mess.

But you know what? She only lives once. 

And if this life is the only chance that she'll get to don on _the_ Ren Amamiya's clothing that swallows her whole (and, according to Ann and Futaba, he's supposed to enjoy the sight of it), then, why would she shy away from that?

* * *

Well. At least, that's what she _thought_.

"Welcome home, Miss Robber."

And before anybody points out the fact that Makoto wasn't thinking straight and was under the influence of her defiant Persona (let's face it, she can pathetically claim it's Johanna/Anat all she wants, but at the end of the day, it's _all_ her choice and her decisions), she just wants to defend herself by saying that it's difficult to think of the possible repercussions when one is riding off the highs of praise and flattery. 

So here she is, standing face-to-face with a disgruntled Ren the moment she unlocked the door, with her back pressed up against the wall and both of his arms are holding her captivate in a tightly confined space with no room to maneuver (and it's a dangerous position, mind you, because she can literally smell the intoxicating aroma of apple-Summer rain - and yeah, any closer, and surely, she's going to faint). He's eyeing her from head to toe, and his nimble fingers are doing some sort of flippant dance over her shoulders, down her arms before settling on her waist.

And that look. Oh, that look. Smoldering and electrifying all at once - she knows it well.

(And she knows: she's in for trouble.)

"So, let me get this straight," Ren begins lowly. "You've stalked me in the past. And now, you raid my closet and steal from me." He lets out a tiny tsk of disapproval. "My, my. I have a rather troublesome girlfriend on my hands, don't I?" 

"I can - " Makoto breathes, bright-eyed and jolty as Ren's hand creeps behind towards the small of her back. " _Explain_." 

"And explain, you should," Ren replies quietly, bending his head forward towards the crook of her neck. "Because, if I recall your words, common courtesy should be - as the name implies - common, and taking somebody else's belongings without their consent doesn't fall under that nature, no?" 

"I know," she says. "But - "

He inches closer. "Mmhmm?"

"Ren, **_please_**." She's nearly begging at this point - so pathetic. Her willpower's at her limit. "I um - "

"Oh, don't you worry, _sweetheart_. I'm listening - "

_I can't do this anymore._

Clenching her two hands together, she cracks. Albeit, with slight apprehension (since she didn't have the undying support from her friends to back her up and it's precisely what she needed at this moment, but it's a start.

It's a start.)

"I mean, w-what kind of girlfriend would I be if I didn't t-take a shirt or two?" 

* * *

The words leave her lips in an adorable, nervous stutter.

And Ren is - exhilarated, to say the least. She said it. She **_really_** said it. And whatever else she's saying right now - a mention about the incredible versatility that came with his clothing, such as the comfiness, the functionalism with pockets and zippers and hidden compartments underneath to hide precious belongings, the so-called aromatics (does it actually smell nice, though? All he can detect is sweat, but whatever) and the usefulness it came to handling long distances, even if it were only for two days ("But still!" she claims fervently) - he could care less about.

"And theoretically speaking," Makoto concludes, at last, barely noticing that her betrothed wasn't exactly paying attention to her tirade anymore, but instead, was starting to break out into a wide, triumphant smile. "A boyfriend's clothes supposedly serve a secondary function as the girlfriend's as well. So basically, your clothes are mine. And going by _that_ technicality, it wouldn't be considered thievery, anyway."

Spoken like a true lawyer. Well, maybe not a really _great_ one (for now), but at least she tried - and looked incredibly endearing doing so.

And there's not much else that Ren can counter with. The smile makes its appearance, blindingly so, and all at once, Makoto's defensive façade drops altogether when he pulls her in for a warm hug.

She draws in a sharp intake of air, bracing herself for whatever stunt he was about to pull.

"Whatever you say goes, girlfriend."

“R-Ren, what are you – ?" Makoto pushes him away slightly, glancing up until the realization hits her. "Wait. _**WAIT**_." She slaps her palm against his chest, fuming, "So, what was this?! You weren't actually angry?!”

“In what world would we be living in if I were actually furious over such a small thing? Man, and to think that we've been together for almost three years.”

“So, all of this - " She gestures to the shirt and then points an accusatory finger at him. "Was a ploy. Deliberately conjured by you. Just so that I would understand the appeal of wearing your clothes."

“Correction," Ren says smoothly. " _Our_ clothes.” His, hers, ours, theirs - the latter certainly has a better ring to it, right? "And most importantly, it worked, because knowing you, you would never agree to something like this unless you had reason to." 

"Now, I feel like a complete fool," Makoto grumbles in shame, burying her head into his chest.

"Ah, but you'll still do it again, though, won't you?" 

"...Well, now that we're together like this, I'll just be polite and ask, do I have your full permission?"

"Oh, you do." Ren nods with a hearty laugh that rumbles throughout his entire being. "There’s no doubt in my mind that you pull off my clothes much better than I do. However - " His voice falters quietly as he takes one good look at her (still swooning at how well she pulls off the oversized look with such Makoto-esque flair), and he adds, "I'd just need a small incentive today though, 'cause I actually did plan on wearing this to go running but - ”

“...Which is?“

And with all seriousness in the world, he points towards their open bedroom door with the luxurious, king-sized mattress signalling them over for a much-needed nap (not that, you know, Ren was actually thinking of taking a nap in the first place) and says:

“You. On that bed. Shirt off."

* * *

  
And Makoto -

Well, let's just say, Makoto doesn't quite give in, hollering in absolute embarrassment as she unleashes her hapkido-trained strength onto her boyfriend in a series of pummeling fists: 

“ _ **NO, REN!**_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> If there's one thing I'm quite proud of, it's the title. Let me know if you guys understand it ;D 
> 
> If you didn't:  
> 
> 
> [UNIQLO sells these graphic t-shirts that are called UT](https://www.uniqlo.com/us/en/ut-graphic-tees), which is what Ren wears (and is briefly mentioned) in the story. Essentially, a play on words (or this case, letters?) to become 'you a cutie' (HAHAHA, AREN'T I HILARIOUS - nope. Not at all.)
> 
> [Also, that scientific paper is very much real. LOL. I know. Even I couldn't believe it.](https://news.ubc.ca/2018/01/04/stressed-out-try-smelling-your-partners-shirt/)


End file.
